"I know that I'm not very clever," he said. "Not in your sort of way, but cleverness isn't everything when you come to my time of life and Victoria's."
"No, indeed it isn't," said Millie with conviction.
"I'm glad you think so," he said, sighing so hastily that quite a little breeze sprang up. "I thought you'd feel otherwise. But I know Victoria better than she thinks. I'm sure I shall make her happy."
"I'm sure you will," said Millie. They shook hands again. Mereward looked about him confusedly.
"Well, I mustn't keep you from your work. Hard at it, I see. Hum, yes . . . Hard at it, I see," and went.
Millie sat at her desk, her head propped on her hands. She wasn't dead then? She drank her tea and smoked a cigarette. Not dead as far as others were concerned. For herself, of course, life was entirely over. She must drag herself along, like a wounded bird, until death chose to come and take her. The tea was delicious. She got up and looked at herself in the glass. She was wearing an old orange jumper to-day; she'd put it on just because it was old and it didn't matter what she wore. Yes, it was old. Time to buy another one. There was one—a kind of purple—in Debenham & Freebody's window. . . . But why think of jumpers when her life was over? Only five days ago she had died, and here she was thinking of jumpers. Well, that was because she was so glad about Victoria. However finished your own personal life might be that did not mean that you could not be interested in the lives of others. She loved Victoria, and it would have been horrible had she married that terrible Bennett. Now Victoria was safe and Millie was glad. She must find her and tell her so.
She found her, as she expected, in her bedroom. Victoria had been wonderful to her during those three days, using a tact that you never would have expected. She must have known what had occurred but she had made no allusion to it, had not asked where He was, had watched over Millie with a tenderness and solicitude that, even though a little irritating, was very touching.
Now she sat in her bedroom armchair, still wearing her gay hat with peacocks' feathers; she was near laughter, nearer tears and altogether in a considerable confusion. Millie flung her arms around her and kissed her.
"Well, now, you've got your way," said Victoria, "and I hope you're glad. If the marriage is a terrible failure it will be all your fault; I hope you realize your responsibility. It was simply because I couldn't go on being nagged by you any longer. Poor man. He did look so funny when he proposed to me, and when I said yes he just ran out of the room. He didn't kiss me or anything."